Concurrent Denial
by Poseida Lunar
Summary: There is a fine line between hate and love, and there is a finer line between hating AND loving and hating OR loving. When someone crossed over the line, hilarious denial ensues. Pre-HPDM, Crack-fic


**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter belongs to Draco Mal- Ah! I mean, Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. I'm only using the characters for fun. No money is being made by publishing this fanfiction. Please do not sue. Thank you. *Bows*

**Warning: **This fic is pre-slash; slight Drarry with mild obscene language. T-rated. Don't like don't read, you've been warned.

**Author's Note:** Wow, it's been centuries since the last time I uploaded anything. O.o Hope you like this. It's a little plot bunny that miraculously popped in and survived in my mind, which has been quite empty lately. And yes, I purposely ended the fic like this. :P Also, this is not beta-ed, so please point out mistakes if you spot any.

* * *

_"My name is Draco Malfoy." The stoic face twisted into a sneer. "Oh, what? Think my name is funny? Red hair and that freckle-faced, you must be a Weasley." Two grey eyes averted to observe him. "__You'll soon find out that some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there._"

_

* * *

_

Harry Potter, age seventeen, scowled at his bowl of soggy cereals.

"Quit it," Hermione said, snapping him out of his thought. "Everybody is looking at you, Harry." And true to her words, they were. Well, not _everyone, _but enough people to make his face turn red with embarrassment for his childishness.

Ron snickered. "Are you sulking, mate?"

"Oh, shut it," Harry mumbled back, stuffing his mouth with a spoonful of his breakfast while his housemates joked and laughed around him, which just made him even angrier.

For some reason lately, certain words of a blond-headed bastard refused to leave his thoughts.

Harry Potter had been doing a lot of thinking since he defeated the Dark Lord that day. At first, he thought and grieved over the dead, reliving the memories and the good times he'd shared with the twins (George was traumatized over the loss of his brother. He was still in St. Mungo's, working with a therapist who was on the brink of suicide because George was stubborn and simply would _not _cooperate). Then he thought of his present, not really sure what to do with all the fame and glory he'd earned.

He could do anything, be anything, have anyone, yet the weight of everything was so heavy that it'd been impossible to handle. Finally, Hermione got permission for him to ward everyone with a camera out of Hogwarts. So far, it was working; there hadn't been a new picture of Harry Potter the World Savior in months.

Future always comes next, and he'd dreamt up the ultimate life he would have after school was done. Perhaps he'd marry a Muggle model, or one of the really cute witches he'd seen on the cover of _Witch Weekly_. Before the war, he thought he'd have to marry Ginny, but the relationship didn't even last a week. Ron had been mad over the break-up for two months. But in the end, everyone could see that Ginny Weasley was not made for Harry Potter.

When the day dreaming was done and over, a period of nothingness overtook his life. Buried with extra school work that every Seventh year student last year had to make up, he didn't have the time to do anything else. The Quidditch team this year was not opened to the temporary "Eighth year" students, because technically, they were not considered Hogwarts students any longer. It was a boring period, that was, until he caught sight of Malfoy's ugly, white-blond hair.

_Ah! Ferret-face's blond hair, how I loathed thee!_ Harry jeered.

He hated that hair! He hated it so much that he wished that he could rip every single one of them out of their roots!

He spoke of this to Ron, who suggested that they actually do it. The plan was fouled by Hermione seconds later, who promised them eternal Hell if she even catches them _thinking_ about it again.

Then it wasn't just the hair; it was Malfoy's eyes, it was his lips, his mouth, his nose! Malfoy possessed the most ugly face in the history of humanity!

Harry related this to the Patil twins.

"I think he's dreamy." Parvati sighed, gazing off into the distance. "His eyes make him look so adorable."

"I'd love to run my hand through his hair," Padma cooed. "Have you seen the shirtless picture of him from fifth year, sister? My friend from Slytherin took it. He looked so hot!"

Hot? HOT?! Malfoy was _not_ hot!

_Whatever, they're just a couple of airheads. They don't know anything._

He talked to Hermione, the only sensible girl besides Ginny he knew.

"Well, I suppose he isn't bad looking if he'd only get that ridiculous smirk off his face... And, you know what? Now that I think about it, he hasn't had it on in a while." Then she stopped. "Why, picturing him without it, he is kind of cute, though like I'd go for a git like him."

"You can't be serious!" Harry snapped.

"You're the one who brought it up!"

And indeed he had.

"Well I wasn't serious!" he protested, then left without another word.

He abhorred Malfoy more than ever.

* * *

More important than Malfoy, the year was coming to an end. the four classes of 1998 was graduating a year late with a lot of promises. Hermione was offered a position in the Department of Magical Creatures, and Ron had secured the title of owner of the twin's joke shop for the next five years until George comes out of rehab.

He had offers from everywhere; being the Quidditch captain of some international team, a scholarship for the Auror Training program, free aboard study to Canada for two years, etc.

Graduation was coming near. He'd be on his own. No more Uncle Vernon scowling at him from across the breakfast table, or Dudley trying to steal him lunch, or Aunt Petunia pounding on his cupboard door, howling for him to wake up.

Everybody was busy thinking about graduation wears, whether they should have a prom like Muggle schools do or not and other whatnots that Harry could just care less about.

Then, out of the blue one day when he was sitting with Ginny and Dean while they argued about the next Quidditch Cup, Malfoy popped into his mind. It wasn't just _any _Malfoy, it was Malfoy at eleven, looming over him in the train compartment, a pale little hand holding out as if he expected Harry to shake it.

And some meaningless words of seven years came flooding back to him.

Harry's face curled into a smug look. _Ha! Now look at me and look at you! Where are you!? I have friends, I have a future; what do you have?!_

"Potter, you face is scary," Dean commented.

"Shut up, Thomas, I'm busying gloating!"

It took some times to grasp Ferret-face's situation, but when it finally clicked, the feeling of supremacy was completely wiped out.

Malfoy, despite his inherited fortune, despite his reputation, despite his intelligence and cunningness, despite the fact that his mother had been pardoned of all crimes, had nothing.

And then he thought to himself, _Should I laugh?_

* * *

The day before graduation, he gathered up his courage and walked up to Malfoy in the middle of Potion while everybody else were busy occupied in following Slughorn's directions. the Slytherin git stared at him in surprise and fear for a split second, as if he'd just saw his father's ghost.

"What do you want? I'm not in the mood to lick your shoes," he said coolly to Harry.

For a moment, Harry couldn't move. A strange disturbance squeezed his stomach as he looked into Malfoy's angry grey eyes. They did make him look innocent and dreamy.

_What? What did I just think of him? _

He couldn't speak.

"Well? are you going to say anything, or are you just going to stand there like a retard?"

Malfoy did not have an ugly face at all.

"I feel sorry for you!" Harry finally stuttered, his face flushed red with embarrassment. "Ex- Excuse me."

* * *

"...And it was really, really weird. I feel as if my stomach was set on fire. I've been nervous before, but I thought that I was pretty confident when I walked up to him."

"Really?" Hermione looked amused.

"It's like the moment I looked into his damned ugly face, I can't move."

"Uh huh?" She was smiling.

"And I don't even feel like punching him. Normally I would be tempted to properly hex him, but... I don't know. I don't feel like doing any of that. His face was almost compelling me for some reason."

"Compelling," the witch echoed.

"Uh huh."

"Harry? What do you think of his face?" She was smiling even more.

"His face? It's ugly! What else would I think of it? And stop doing that! I need advice. Are you sure he didn't put a spell on me or something?"

His friend looked as if she was about to laugh. "Oh, he put a spell on you all right," was all she said before skipping merrily away, dancing all the way out of the Common room.

"What's gotten into _her_?"

* * *

"...I wish you all the best for the rest of your lives, and remember, dear children, of the Hogwarts proverb, _Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus_, or 'Never tickle a sleeping dragon!'" Headmistress McGonagall finished. The whole Great Hall burst into applause at the end of her graduation speech, more because they were glad it was over than because of her touching words. "And now for Professor Sprout, who will read to us our list of graduates and give out the diplomas!" A louder cheer.

The old Herbology professor stepped onto the stand and rolled out the parchment. "Abbott, Hannah..."

Harry drowned out the world as the ceremony continued, clapping only when it was necessary.

"This is so wonderful!" Hermione squealed with delight beside him as Hannah did her little speech. "I have mine all written out last night. It's four feet long, including memoirs from every year here!" Ron groaned, no doubt not wanting to listen to a second of her conducting a speech.

The World Savior, however, was off in La-La land.

_What should I say?_

"Malfoy, Draco."

The call and the sudden hush captured Harry's attention.

_Why am I ponder about what I should say? A git like Malfoy has more to worry about than me._

_I really feel sorry for him. Him with his cocky, cowardly, ignorant attitude and his ugly face-_

Harry felt his cheeks heat up. _His face..._

And he couldn't help but to be mesmerized by said face as Malfoy stood up in front of the Great Hall, taking the roll of parchment from Professor Sprout. The entire school watched him like a hawk, as if he would attack them any moment. Yet, he stood, head held up and began speaking, "I do not have much to say right now, I probably don't have the right to. So I'm going to make things simpler, and wish my fellow peers a good life after Hogwarts." Then he bowed, and left.

Harry started clapping, but it was seconds in before he realized that he was the only one.

Hermione told him afterwards, "That was really sweet of you. I suppose I should have clapped too..." She sighed.

"Eh, thanks 'Mione."

"So what do you think?"

"It's good. I did my speech without vomiting-"

"No, of Malfoy. How do you feel about him?"

"I told you; I think he has an ugly face, and I feel sorry for him, being the school reject and all."

She stared at him. "You're really oblivious, Harry."

"What do you mean?"

* * *

Living independently had been easier than he thought. There was no need to buy his own place with Sirius' old home, and the only living expense he'd need to cover aside from the yearly Ministry tax were hygiene products, clothes and food.

For the first few weeks, he vacationed and vacationed and vacationed around the world until he thought he was about to drop dead. Life had never been so carefree and easy.

A week ago, he enrolled into the Auror Training program. Three days after that, the Weasley family celebrated his eighteenth birthday.

As he wandered aimlessly around the shops of Diagon Alley in disguise, Harry Potter determined that there was probably no way that his life could get any better than this, and he should enjoy every last moment of it before the foul smell of chaos drifts in again.

Harry walked past the Weasley twins' joke sop, where he could see into the window George doing tricks for a couple of children, and Ron stocking up new products on to the shelves. Beyond the twin's joke shop was a restaurant, and beyond that a perfume shop that Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil would certainly loved. Next to the perfume shop was a second-handed magic bookstore. The lines of shops disappeared into the distance like a never ending chain. Harry stood in the middle of the loud streets to admire this prospering community.

_There is still one place I haven't visited._

Three blocks past the twin's shop, a narrow alley branched into older, more shady sorts of streets. Although he'd heard occasional stories about the violence and the illegal smuggling, Knockturn Alley never was the place he'd wanted to be after the war.

Yet, he couldn't help but step into the alley way. After all, what harm could a little sight-seeing do?

* * *

Had it not been the Glamour charms, Harry was sure that the first thief who spot him here would've ran for his life, screaming, and causing an unnecessary uproar. All around him, distrusting eyes regarded the surrounding. The dealers who were doing businesses in their shops had hands inches away from their wand pockets, and everywhere one looked, steel doors intertwined with warding spells guarded each place.

"...Three thousand at least..." Harry heard someone whispered as he walked past two wizards exchanging conversation.

"...Know my trade. This egg shell ain't worth more than two thousand Galleons."

An old witch approached him.

"Good lad," she cloaked, smiling an eerie smile. "I have some fiiiiine Polyjuice potion here, mind taking a sample?"

"N- No, I have business," he excused himself and hurried away.

_Guess things really haven't changed that much for this sorry excuse of a place. I'll have to do something about it. Maybe I should report them in to the Auror department; that conversation I just overheard sounds suspiciously like they are trading Dragon egg shells-_ A familiar sign he'd seem numerous times in his life caught his attention. Still dusty and pooring maintained, in front of him stood the old Dark Arts shop.

_Borgins_ _and Burkes_

And beneath those words, _Established in 1863_

Harry gently pushed the wooden door, which groaned the instance he touched it. "Hello?" His eyes scanned the poorly-organized interior. Strangely, there was nobody behind the counter. He walked in, eyes gazing with wary at the bottle of poison lining up on the shelves and the assortment of human bones, cursed necklaces and the leering masks.

But other than the expected items, the shop itself seemed to be voided of all living beings aside from him.

No, wait.

"...Don't play with us, young Malfoy. We've been in this business for years. Your father may get away with cheating us, but _you_. Don't think you can sell us something so worthless and expect a great gain from me. Lucius isn't here to protect your hides anymore. Nobody is," a raspy voice whispered harshly.

"What are you going to do?" The new voice no doubt belonged to Malfoy. Harry frowned, getting out his wand. What had he uncovered here?

"Oh, why should I tell? Once I'm done, it's done. Nobody will be looking for you anyway, young Malfoy."

There was a moment of silence, then the sound of Malfoy swallowing a breath, trembling. "We had a deal, Burkes."

"You're right; we_ had_ a deal, and coming from such family, you should know that people like us do not play deals."

Harry wrinkled his nose. This situation smelled rotten, but he wouldn't leave Malfoy and his ugly face here to rot. Besides, he had decided to make a report to the Auror Department. This store could be first on his list. A slum like this place had stood on the ground long enough. why, he would bet his life that half of the products in here were illegal to trade.

"You're not getting away with this!"

"Oh yes, I think I am. _Cruci-_"

He acted. "_Expelliarmus!"_

"What?! Who the hell is there!? Show yourself!" the old wizard screeched with fury, waving his just retrieved wand in the air, eyes nearly popping out of their sockets.

Harry dropped his glamours. "I'm Harry Potter."

"Potter?" Malfoy peered at him.

"Potter?!" Burkes screeched again. "What- What's a person like you doing here!?"

"Good question. _Stupefy._"

The blond stared at his wildly as he free him from the binding spell. "Why are you helping me," he finally asked, or demanded, rather. Harry gave him no answer. "Answer me when I'm talking to you, Potter, or has my words not registered your dim mind?!"

"I don't have to." That didn't sound good. He sounded like a small child being stubborn when he didn't get his way.

"Then what are you doing here in this part of Diagon Alley? Can't do enough justice for the world, huh?" This was accompanied by his signature sneer. The once-Gryffindor looked at this current expression.

_Hermione was kind of right. He does look better without that sneer._

"Well?"

_In fact, he doesn't look all that bad. Except his eyes still look ugly. So do his nose and mouth. Make that the rest of his face. He's ugly._

And before he knew, Malfoy had a wand by his throat. "Stop staring at my face! You want to stare? Take a picture and wank to it all you want. If you're not going to say anything, then get the hell out of here. I have business to attend to."

"You'll find out that some wizarding social groups are better than others, Malfoy," he unintentionally blurted out.

The other man stared at him like he was crazy. "What the hell are you blabbling about now?"

"You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sorts," he continued, looking into Malfoy's eyes. His breathing hitched. By Merlin, as ugly as they were, those grey- almost silver- orbs were absolutely mesmerizing and stunning.

Said eyes blinked.

Harry held out a hand. "I can help you there."

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

"You're ugly." Why did he say that?

"Now I know you're drunk; it seems to have worsen your hopeless stupidity. The impossible has been accomplished." He threw Harry a sneer and gathered up some things that Harry assumed was his. "I'll be leaving now, Potter. Good day."

* * *

_"You'll find out that some wizarding social groups are better than others, Malfoy." Potter blurted out, seeming nervously, but continued as if he thought that if he stop there he could make his previous sentence less strange. "You don't want to go make friends with the wrong sorts. I can help you there." He had a hand held out, waiting for Draco to shake it._

* * *

Draco Malfoy scowled at his reflection in the mirror first thing in the morning. He'd like it very much if it was only a certain someone else.

Someone with a disgustingly jagged scar...

Someone with a martyrish hero-complex...

Someone who just couldn't comprehend the meaning of sticking his puny little nose out of other people Merlin-jinxed business...

"You're a retard, Potter," he sneered at the blond in the mirror, who was mimicking his every move. "Even after over seven years of knowing you, I just can't get over how utterly _stupid_ you are. You and your _idiotic_ baby-ish grin and your pathetic single-digit IQ... I hate your intelligence-forsaken brain _so much_! I don't care if every mind-dead witch on the street thinks you're the best thing on earth since the invention the Fetching charm, you'll always be the dumbest human being to me!"

And, Draco Malfoy decided with a final scowl, that was _final_.

* * *

_Stupid git_, they thought simultaneously.


End file.
